A Parcel of Rogues

Written in the months following the fall of the North, this poem, usually accompanied by a funerary drumbeat, bemoans the fall of the Dorns, but also hints at the dying of their fighting spirit.

Farewell to all our Dornish fame
Farewell our ancient glory
Farewell even to our Dornish name
So famed in martial story
The Ironwall runs to the Desert Sands
And Ice flows to the ocean
To mark where the Shadow’s province stands
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

What force or guile could not subdue
Through all the warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor’s wages
The orcish steel we could disdain
Secure in valor’s station
But the Shadow’s gold has been our bane
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

O would, ere I had seen this day
When Kings to Darkness pander
My father’s axe had spilt the lives
Of House Pendor or Chander
But pith and power, ‘til my last hour
I’ll make this declaration
We were bought and sold by the Shadow’s gold
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

A Parcel of Rogues

False Dawn kitsuki Bookkeeper